Pierced Ankles
by Hiyo-Kuro
Summary: Himuro struggles to find closure with himself but he's not sure where to start or if he even wants to find a way out from his tragedies. That's when Atsushi arrives from Japan, this time, he knows what he wants. Rated M for profanities.


It's an understatement, Himuro decides. It's an understatement when people say that he doesn't play basketball anymore. They don't know how much he yearns - to run his hands along the surface of basketballs, the stench of rubber and sweat, the screeches of shoes, the thumps it makes as it kisses the ground, the dance along the ring of the hoop, the meetings between net and ball. Himuro yearns for it all. But he knows he can't act on those yearnings.

"It's not the same anymore", he explains to Nijimura. "You don't understand."

He's not sure why he's having this conversation with Shuu, but he wants it to run away from it.

"No, I understand." Nijimura takes a step forward and rests his hand on Tatsuya's shoulder.

Himuro shrugs it off instead, replying sharply: "Shuu, I appreciate your concern but—"

"Tatsuya", Himuro hears the drop of frustration. "Shouldn't you have already gotten over your envy of Kagami?"

Himuro's expression darkens for a split second. He casts a glare at Nijimura, causing him to purse his lips and look away. Nijimura sighs, a cloud of white puffs forms from it, and he raises his hands in defeat. He doesn't say a word but gives Himuro an apologetic grin. He hopes that the man would lay down his weapons, to which he does.

He understands that Himuro doesn't want to talk about it. But he feels that his best friend is taking the rivalry harshly to the point he stops playing basketball. But it isn't just that, Nijimura wants to pursue other issues but he ceases. He pretends not to notice the stink of cigarette smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol. There are other battles that Himuro is fighting inside of him, other demons. Nijimura doesn't know how to help Himuro and standing in front of him only makes him feel worse.

"Hey, I -", he stammers, searching for a word to complete the sentence. "Gotta get back to my dad", Nijimura gives Himuro a loop-sided grin. The ex-Teikou captain bids him farewell before retreating. He tries not to look back in fear of catching a glimpse of a friend he could no longer recognize.

With Nijimura gone, Himuro releases the breath that he had held onto earlier. He hates it when Shuu is too observant for his own good. He hates that his breathing turns irregular whenever his fucked up issues are discussed. Yet he's grateful for Shuu's intake on his condition and gives him space to breathe. But Himuro knows it won't end. Eventually people will storm him and question him relentlessly.

"Himuro, why aren't you playing basketball anymore?"

"No you see, you really don't understand". Himuro mumbles to Shuu from afar.

Today is 20th February 2016.

It's been 5 years since he last played on the court. Today his heart feels a little heavier. He walks away, taking the opposite direction from where Nijimura had taken.

He heads to the local café which serves the best flat top, his personal favourite. Bitter, he feels, is what he needs. Bitter, he emphasizes.

He opens the door of the café, a chime welcoming him and purple decorating one end of the corner. Himuro doesn't take the shade in until he sits on the bar stool and lets his eyes wander back to the corner. It's then he meets a familiar purple intensity staring back at him. Himuro freezes, his breathing stops again. He attempts to mouth his name but realizes it left pangs of anguish, one that sends him charging out of the café.

A ∙ tsu ∙ shi. The name brings him shivers, memories slowly digging into his consciousness, taunting him. He remembers his childhood days, he remembers a blonde lady, he remembers double eyebrows and he remembers rings. He remembers surging pain and he remembers losing his arms. He remembers the ball bouncing after he misses a shot and he remembers tears glistening along the basketball court. He remembers the trashcan filled with cigarette boxes and he remembers waking up with hangovers.

Himuro runs from all these, uncertain of the direction but continues anyway. It isn't long before he starts wheezing (he hasn't been fit lately) and stops on his tracks to look behind.

'Nothing', he sighs in relief, dropping his hands to his knees in an attempt to regain his composure.

Then, a shadow casts itself upon him.

"Muro-chin", the voice speaks. It's different from how it was 5 years ago. It's deeper, no, matured. He grew up without him.

Himuro's instincts were to run, but Atsushi pulls his arm before he could. He struggles but Atsushi only tightens his grip.

Himuro screams. People started slowing down their walking pace to take in the situation.

"Muro-chin, stop! I don't want to create a scene here!"

"Let me go, you – It hurts!"

"If I let go you'll run again!"

"Atsushi, it hurts!"

Tears spill down his cheeks and his teeth clenches as he struggles to contain his agony. He doesn't want to create a scene but it hurts. The injury was still there, the pain intensifying and crawling all over his receptors.

Atsushi loosens his grip before a sudden realization strikes him.

"Fuck, Muro-chin don't tell me."

"Don't say it", he replies with a shaky voice. "Don't say it", he shakes his head frantically.

Murasakibara grabs him into a tight embrace and caresses his hair. Himuro used to do the same for him when he was down. He isn't good with comforting people nor does he have anything to say to Himuro. All he does is stand, holding Himuro who is damping his shoulder, and they stayed there for a long time. He ignores the looks of the passersby but casts them a glare whenever he catches them staring. They hurried, leaving them to themselves.

He isn't sure how long time passed, but he considers the colour change in the sky as an indicator. They shouldn't be here for too long, it'll get cold and Himuro isn't wearing anything thick.

"Muro-chin?"

Himuro nods, he's listening.

"Do you wanna go to my place? It's getting cold…"

Himuro doesn't say anything, but he doesn't protest either.

Atsushi isn't sure how to react to this behaviour but he leads him to the hotel, never taking his eyes off Himuro.

In the hotel room, Atsushi calls hotel service for food. Thankfully, he still knows his English. After ending the call, he turns to look back at Himuro sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in his own world.

He crouches down so that he could see him face-to-face. What he sees shocks him, Himuro's beauty faded – sunken cheeks, eye bags, unhealthy skin. His bones were protruding, he hasn't been eating properly. He stinks of cigarette and alcohol and Atsushi can't help but wonder.

His eyes wander down to Himuro's shoulder, the injured one. He recalls it was the same one from 5 years back, Yosen and Seirin in the finals. Their scores were similar and the clock ticked 10 seconds before the game was about to end. Himuro attempts a three-pointer but couldn't, losing the ball possession to Kagami. That day, Seirin won Winter Cup, Himuro lost basketball. It was a serious injury, the orthopaedist said. He overexerted his left shoulder's muscles and wouldn't be able to properly stretch it. To normal people, life could still go on. But like how a pianist's fingers were their life source, a shooting guard's arms were their lives. It was another form of death, the death of a sport he could never play for the rest of his life. He could no longer throw a Mirage Shot. So, he became mirage instead.

Since then, Atsushi noticed how distant the man became. He no longer interacted nor appeared alongside him on the way home from school. Liu said it was cram school, but Atsushi knows that wasn't the case. It was just a cover up for Himuro, who frequented bars instead. Atsushi saw it with his own eyes, a drunkard Himuro near the convenience store.

"Ohhh, we can't do anything about your shoulder...You can't play anymore." Himuro laughed before continuing. " _Fuck that_ , don't be a doctor if you can't heal people." He hiccupped. "'I'm sorry Tatsuya' as if it will cure my shoulder." Himuro leaned against the wall, the bottle of beer raised up to the sky, in a mocking manner. "Cheers to prodigies!"

Atsushi remembered walking away. He didn't know what to say back then. It was almost painful to see his senior like that, crying yet laughing.

For the following years, he never talked to Himuro. There were almost of sights of him in school or during practice. He was either playing truant or deliberately avoiding him. Either way, he found out Himuro managed to graduate with passing scores. He saw Himuro on his graduation day but ever since then - he vanished without a trace.

It took him years, before he knew of Himuro's condition in the States from Nijimura. He was even more surprised by the fact that Nijimura, who recently returned to visit, knew Himuro.

"I had this friend back in LA." Nijimura took a bite from the Maji burger. He munched the burger thoughtfully, as if taking in the taste. He looked back to see the Generation of Miracles, including Haizaki, staring at him.

"And? Finish your food and continue already." Haizaki complained. Nijimura frowned at him before swallowing his food.

"He's Japanese and he helped me settle there, basketball player too. Played with him a couple of times, could say he's as good as you guys. But he went to Japan for a few years and when he returned back, he said he doesn't play anymore."

"Wait", Kuroko who was usually quiet, voiced out. "How does he look like?" The others soon began to grasp the question.

Nijimura knit his eyebrows in return, why would Himuro's looks interest anyone? "He's...pretty?" was all he could manage.

"Black hair that covers one eye?" Aomine added. Nijimura nodded.

"He has this shot that disappears or something, right?" Kise asked.

Nijimura nodded again. He opened his mouth to ask if they met Himuro before but Atsushi was faster. "Muro-chin?!"

"Muro-chin? You mean, _Jesus Christ,_ Himuro?! You've all met Himuro?!"

"Oh, you mean that pussy I kicked years ago?" Haizaki quipped in.

"You kicked him?!"Nijimura raised his voiced and grabbed Haizaki's collar, "For what?!"

"I don't know, why should I remember?!" Nijimura glared at him before letting go of the collar. "Fuckin' hell, just because I did something to your boyfriend in the past don't mean you can just yell at me."

Nijimura blushed at that comment, "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Oh yeah, what're you blushin' like a fuckin' virgin then?!"

"I'm not!"

"Well, lookie' yourself at the mirror then! Akamura. (Haizaki replaced the 'Niji' (Rainbow) for 'Aka' (Red)"

Frustrated, Nijimura leaned back on his seat. "I..fine we had a short stint together but that's all."

"You and Muro-chin were together?" Atsushi asked with a soft voice.

"Yeah, he was lonely and he needed company so we...I know it was reckless and all but..." Nijimura had nothing left to say but Atsushi took that his former captain felt remorse about it. He went back to his fries while his former teammates looked amongst themselves knowingly.

Kise nudged Aomine but had his feet stepped on instead. Aomine ignored Kise's cries over his ruined shoes and signalled Midorima to do so. Midorima frowned back at Aomine and set his eyes on Akashi, who ought to be a better role for this. Akashi decided that Kuroko was the best option in the end.

"This is good news, Murasakibara-kun. You can find him in the States."

It took awhile before Murasakibara looked up from his fries. "You're right, Kuro-chin."

"Murasakibara, you're looking for Himuro?"

Kise decided to help his teammate reply, "Yeah and Murasakibaracchi has this innocent crush-" Aomine kicked Kise off his chair before he could finish his sentence.

"They were teammates, double aces." Aomine added. "I don't remember people that much, but I know he left a lasting impression."

Nijimura turned his gaze from Aomine to Atsushi. "Well, there's one place where you could find him."

And so, that conversation brought him here. Even then, he didn't expect to see him like this, a broken vessel.

"Muro-chin? I called for food, we can talk while we're waiting."

Himuro snorts. "Tell me about yourself, Atsushi."

"Haah?" he drawls.

"Do you want me to speak in English? _Tell me about yourself, Atsushi_."

Atsushi frowns at Himuro's sarcastic tone. "Nothing much, been busy."

"So I heard, you're a well-known pastry chef right? They sell your books here."

Atsushi nods, he happens to guess what's coming next.

"What a waste of talent, to use it on cakes."

"Muro-chin-"

"Life is so unfair."

Himuro grips Atsushi's arms and leans closer to Atsushi. His eyes enlarges and a creepy grin emerges on his face.

"Exchange with me, you don't need it as much, don't you?" he grips even harder, Atsushi winces at the pain.

"GIVE IT TO ME!" his voice explodes in the room.

"MURO-CHIN!" he punches Himuro, knocking him off the bed.

"Shit, Muro-chin I'm –", he attempts to pick him up and is repaid with a punch of similar force. Atsushi lands on the floor loudly. He reaches to his swollen cheek, rubbing it while his eye twitches at the burning sensation.

Himuro looks back at him with cold-blooded eyes, a deadly aura emitting from him.

"I don't ever want to see you again."

"Muro-chin, wait!" he calls out after him.

Himuro stomps out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He leans back against the door and curses at himself for hurting his former teammate. Atsushi didn't deserve it. He came with good intentions after all. Tatsuya thinks it would be better if he didn't. His existence only sparked traces of the past he doesn't want to dwell in. With a deep breath; he walks away with thoughts of alcohol drowning his mind.

He didn't need to fix his life. It would just be better if he didn't have it.

* * *

A/N: Well, I finally managed my first story of the year. Let's hope I can get this story going. Or maybe I should just end it here?


End file.
